


Staged

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playing apart, together.  Pretty much solid porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staged

Adam _says_ he just wants to show Tommy the new encore...but Tommy knows better.

He sits in the front row of the empty theater and crosses his arms, looking up at the stage expectantly. Adam appears a few moments later, just as the first notes of the song are starting to blare over the sound system. It's a full recording, and Adam probably shouldn't bother singing along – they _do_ have another show tomorrow – but he will.

He's wearing his Fever costume, which is all wrong for an encore, but it's the easiest one to get in and out of. Tommy smiles to himself, happy that he knows that, happy to recall _why_ exactly he knows it. Adam catches his eye and smiles back, and then he's shouting over the intro, rambling about the song and the story he's trying to tell with the choreography or something. Tommy doesn't really catch most of it, but he doesn't feel bad. This kind of talk is just Adam thinking out loud – not really looking for an answer. He does it a lot, and Tommy likes that, likes the rise and fall of Adam's voice in the background of his life, filling the silence.

And then Adam starts to sing, and that wrenches Tommy right back into the present moment, because when Adam sings, you listen.

The song has a fucking sweet bass line that Tommy can't wait to get his fingers on, but right now all he can think about is how the music gets inside Adam's body and comes out his mouth, his hands, his hips. Adam looks almost crazed, definitely desperate, every word another bit of slithering seduction, every movement an invitation, a request, a _plea._ He looks like he really fucking needs to get laid, as if it's been ages. Which, Tommy has to say, is total bullshit. He knows. He was there.

Tommy's not really surprised to see Adam's hand go to his crotch, gripping himself as his hips swivel into it – Adam's hard onstage all the fucking time, so much that Tommy really doesn't know how he deals with it, and honestly he kind of can't believe Adam's not sneaking touches more often. But he _is_ surprised – shocked, actually – when Adam dips two fingers under his waistband and flips the knotted ends of his laces out into plain sight. He works them quickly, easily, undoing the knots and pulling, and that's just fucking impressive, being able to do that one-handed, and Tommy realizes that Adam's totally _practiced_ that move, probably stood in front of the mirror with his mic in one hand and worked on it again and again until he had it just right. He's been _planning_ this. Fucker.

Tommy's suspicion is confirmed as Adam locks eyes with him and slides his hand right down the loosened front of his pants, just like that, like it's part of the choreography. Tommy knows how he probably looks right now, eyes wide, mouth slack, but he doesn't care. That right there? Is fucking _hot._

Adam stays just like that for a little while, stroking himself just slightly, showing nothing, betraying nothing, his voice just as steady as it always is. And fuck, _Adam_ might still be solid as a rock up there, but Tommy is quickly turning into a complete mess, the image going hazy and blurry in front of his eyes, his whole body going deliciously tense, his cock rapidy starting to demand some attention of its own. He licks his lips and presses a hand into his lap, a temporary easing of growing pressure, and thinks about how Adam had better have some pretty fucking epic plans for after, because this is ridiculous.

And just then he sees Adam's eyes glance down, just for a split-second, and his voice wavers for the first time. And Tommy raises his eyebrows and smirks and decides he likes this turn of events _very_ much, thank you. Yeah. He can play this game.

Tommy unbuttons his jeans and pulls the zipper down just enough to get one hand in, mirroring Adam's actions above him, and spreads his legs as far as the chair will let him, falling into a pattern of small half-strokes. It's hardly more than a gentle rub, but watching Adam touch himself up there...and especially watching Adam watching him, fire in his eyes...it makes everything way more intense than it has any right to be.

Their eyes lock again, and _fuck,_ Tommy halfway thinks he can _feel_ that look, that intensity in Adam's eyes. No wonder people scream and sob and faint. Tommy's not sure he could handle an hour of that look. Then again, he thinks, tossing his head a bit, Adam doesn't usually have anything quite like this to look at.

Despite what they're already doing, despite the absolutely one hundred percent assured emptiness of the theater, it's still deeply, deeply shocking to see Adam ease his pants out of the way and pull out his cock, hard and flushed, right there in the middle of the stage. It makes Tommy's breath catch, and his chest go all tight, and a whole new wave of arousal shudder its way through his body...and that's just him, watching. Adam looks _gone,_ his voice going rough around the edges, speeding up, running away from the music, his body sinuous and ceaseless in its movement, fucking into his fist with every thrust, his face caught in a rictus of desire, of pleasure, eyes closed, mouth open, head thrown back so far Tommy can see tendons cording. He almost wants to get up, run up to Adam and press right into him. There's a droplet of sweat dripping down the arch of Adam's neck, catching the light, taunting him, and he wants to lick it off, taste sweat and foundation and Adam on his tongue.

And then Adam opens his eyes and pins Tommy with _that look_ again, and oh fuck, there's no going anywhere, there's just getting his fucking jeans out of the way and following Adam's lead, stroking himself in earnest now, right out in the open where anyone could see. Where Adam can see.

The microphone squeals loudly as it hits the floor, and Tommy would laugh if he had the breath or the brainpower to spare. Adam's not singing any more, just staring at him, fucking _destroying_ him with his eyes, head bowed, lids heavy, the pictue of _intent._ Tommy matches his every stroke, and his hips are practically coming up off the seat, his head thrown back against the hard plastic as he slumps, looking for a better angle. He feels absolutely _slutty_ like this, sprawled out over the chair, closer and closer and closer to losing control entirely, but that just makes it better somehow, makes him feel it deeper.

Adam gets there first, his voice ringing out through the theater, a harsh breaking cry that might be Tommy's name and might be nothing at all, and Tommy can see it perfectly in the bright stage lights, see every muscle in Adam's body go tense and still all at once, see every white pulse arc out through the air and splatter on the stage floor.

It's that image that does it, Adam marking the stage like that, up there in front of the world, possibly the single hottest thing Tommy has ever seen, and he's coming almost before he realizes it, hot and wet and everywhere, and he's not loud like Adam, not all lit up and bright and beautiful, but when he opens his eyes, when he can see again, Adam has collapsed to his knees and is staring at him with what Tommy can only call _amazement._

He holds out a hand weakly, still recovering, and Tommy hitches up his pants and stands on shaking legs, coming to stand by the stage as Adam crawls forward on his knees, laces dragging the ground, dragging through the mess he's left there.

They meet at the edge, Tommy arching up to catch Adam's lips as he leans down, and Tommy feels like he could kiss and kiss and kiss Adam just like this, for hours and hours, if only his legs would hold him. In a moment there will be laughing and smiling and peeling off clothes and cleaning up, but right now, lost in the afterglow and the moment...right now is what Tommy will remember, what he'll still think about days and weeks and years later. Just _this._


End file.
